


The Old Ball and Chain

by Rexila



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures, Problem Sleuth - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-28
Updated: 2011-11-29
Packaged: 2017-10-26 15:52:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rexila/pseuds/Rexila
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Handcuffs (n) <strong>(slang, 1920s)</strong> - Engagement rings; Wedding rings.</em></p><p>Problem Sleuth and Spades Slick learn the hard way to look out for glitched items.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Innocuous Doubling is a curious, unpredictable, yet incredibly useful science, provided one knows what they’re doing!_

 _Standard doubles swapped between ordinary objects (hence innocuous), and deadly weapons. They were first developed during the alcohol and weaponry prohibition (see more in Chapter Five: Innocuous Smuggling). Early doubles were triggered by the wielder’s psychological state, typically tripped by fear and panic. Anyone threatened would suddenly have a way of a defending themselves. Doubling was soon tweaked to be triggered on anger, to initiate attacks rather than react to them, and shortly after the first thought-triggered doubles began to emerge in the market. As technology progressed and as laws were lifted, doubling spread to ordinary objects as well. Instead of hiding keys in flowerpots, keys **became** flowerpots! The possibilities of doubling are limitless!_

 _In this chapter:_

 _\- Calibration times: Older weapons take some time to ‘adjust’ to their users, while modern doubles calibrate in minutes - some brands almost instantly. Finer calibration costs more, but is it worth it in the long run to avoid mishaps like mistriggering and glitched weapons?_

 _\- From weapons to other items: Doubles are typically dangerous or sensitive items in disguise, but other doubling combinations have been seen through time. What are uses are there for doubling, and where should the line be drawn?_

 _\- Trips and triggers: Which is a safer and more reliable trigger for doubling, thoughts or emotions? What situation would one be better over the other?_

“Hey, look busy, kid, parcel’s coming.”

The younger half of the transport team groaned and shut his textbook, slumping in the passenger seat.

“Why did I ever agree to be on call?” he sighed as he slid his homework into the glove compartment. The driver shook his head.

“Because jobs are scarce and tuition don’t pay itself,” he grunted, “now quit complainin’ and go meet the client.”

The younger of the two looked out the windshield at the man he was going to meet. He had stepped out of a sleek silver car, was dressed finely, and looked completely confident and fearless until one saw how tightly he was clutching the little black case to his body.

The kid was about to open the door when a dark shape dropped to the hood of the silver car and launched itself at the courier. The courier was knocked to the ground, the case wrest from his hands, and the man did not get back up. The dark shape disappeared across the street.

The passenger door was locked and the kid was hiding under the dash, while the driver just gaped.

“The hell was - aw _shit.”_

Curious despite his absolute terror, the kid peeked above the dashboard just enough to catch the end of a pale coat leaving the range of their windshield. The driver shook his head.

“Goddammit, I’ve been sayin’ all night how we didn’t need him, and now look,” the driver waved at the windshield and sighed, “I ain’t gonna hear the end of this.”  
 -

The top problem sleuth in the city (so on top that it was his name and totally not self-appointed) was in hot pursuit of the thief. He had actually been hired to case the drop point and pre-emptively stop something like this from happening, but freelancing a retrieval was a footnote on the agreement.

Although, and he wouldn’t say it to either of them without throwing some gruff, hardboiled snark in there, Sleuth kind of wished he had the rest of his team there. But the assignment was _very_ last second, and the only reason he got it at all was because his was one of the few offices open at this hour, and his name came up before Ace Dick and Pickle Inspector’s on their listing.

This assignment was one that was covert and very, very important, and if the client hadn’t made this clear when he hired Sleuth, he would have picked it up by the dead-of-night thing, the amount of security he had to talk to, and the silent and precise way everyone involved moved. However, despite his advice to the bodyguards, and despite the effort they put into clearing the drop point, one managed to slip through the net.

In the few seconds Sleuth had to observe the thief when they struck, he was able to note that he was a dersite dressed in black, which wasn’t unusual, but wearing a white mask, which was. Too bad he wasn’t running backwards, though, because then that highly visible target might have been useful for something.

Sleuth drew his gun anyway. While the client was emphasizing the _importance_ of this work, there was just the _slightest_ implication that failure would not be taken lightly. In fact, it would be taken darkly, probably in a backalley, then a trunk, then maybe a junkyard or the river, depending on the weather. Sleuth knew he was hardboiled enough to tango on the edge of legality like that, of course, though he hadn’t expected to have to make the ‘shoot or face shady vengeance’ call since everybody else had their shit together and he was the last one to be called in. Sheesh, some people’s secretive deliveries!

He went to aim his gun and then realized he was looking down the shaft of a key instead. Sleuth scowled and shook the ring of keys while thinking ‘I really need to shoot this guy’ thoughts. Said guy had led Sleuth to the older part of town, where the streets were narrow and the alleys were narrower, and the whole place was filled with sharp turns and poor lighting. Sleuth was doing an admirable job keeping up, if he said so himself, but had to admit that the thief was gaining distance and Sleuth was losing his breath.

Sleuth grit his teeth, raised his gun - and yes, it was a gun now! - and aimed it for around the thief’s general leg area. Surprise or - ha - actually hitting the guy at this distance would at _least_ give him time to catch up.

He fired and, barely visible in the shadows, a dark shape fell. Deep down, Sleuth was a little surprised that had worked, but he’d congratulate himself when he was getting a juicy bonus for totally saving the day. Night. Cargo.

In the time it took for Sleuth to reach them, the thief hadn’t moved. Once he was beside him, he realized just how unmoving he was, except for the blood pooling on the pavement around his head. Sleuth winced - his aim was not that bad, no way, and nudged the neck a little. The weight of the head pushed the blade in the fresh murder victim’s throat out the other side of his neck. Oh.

“That’s a problem,” Sleuth said, stepping back.

It was right when he was thinking about the case (the one the thief had, not the - well, okay, the case and this _case_ were kind of the same) when he heard pretty much the _last_ voice he wanted to hear.

“Aw, for fuck’s sake, I had a perfect line for when you said something stupid like ‘that’s not good’ and then you - no, wait wait shit-”

Spades Slick cleared his throat and stepped out of the darkness, his mechanical arm catching the slightest bit of light, and his horsehitcher resting against his shoulder. He grinned.

“Problem? Maybe for you, Sleuth, but not for me. Not at all, I think.”

It was clear by the look on his face that Slick was mentally high-fiving himself for the awesome one-liner, but Sleuth completely ignored him and raised his keys. Keys? Shit. Whatever, he raised them and toed the dead guy again.

“That’s your brilliant plan for tonight, Slick? Let some other asshole do the work and bump him off?”

Slick shrugged.

“Usually I let three assholes do the work, and I try _really_ hard not kill ‘em. But this time I got a volunteer.”

He snickered, “Didn’t know it, of course, but I didn’t see the need to drag a ton of weight in for a one man job.”

Sleuth nodded. Slick normally liked bragging about his awesome accomplishments, but Sleuth got the feeling this was just stalling as they waited for someone to make the first move. Sleuth glanced to the body. The thief fell facing Slick, so the case was furthest from Sleuth. Still, he had to try.

Sleuth took a step towards the body, and Slick was suddenly two feet closer and swinging the hitcher. Sleuth evaded with a sleuth roll and barely caught the case as he did. He had to drop his ring of keys to do so, however, and when he stopped they were left between him and the body. Slick had stepped over it during his attack and was looking over his shoulder with a look halfway between surprised and furious. Sleuth tucked the case under his arm and made a grab for his keys, and just got his finger through the ring when Slick pounced on him. He’d ditched the hitcher to have two hands to try prying the case out of Sleuths grasp with. Sleuth kept the case close to his chest though, or as close as he could when fighting against a hydraulic arm. Slowly, Slick started to gain some distance, and Sleuth grimaced and attempted to kick him. The pair flopped over, and their struggle was less a hardboiled battle of stolen goods and more two grown men rolling around on the ground for a little black box.

“C’mon, numbnuts, I need the money,” Slick grunted, yanking the case closer to him.

“You robbed four banks last week,” Sleuth responded, pulling the case back.

“So? C’never have too much money.”

Sleuth rolled his eyes and pulled, however, that was right when Slick dug his fingers into the seam of the lid.

Suddenly, the case burst open and its precious pricey cargo flew free - it was a pair of silver rings with several clear, large, and expensive looking gems set in them.

Sleuth and Slick watched them bounce and roll along the pavement until they saw them bouncing and rolling towards a gutter drain. Immediately, they started scrambling over each other to intercept them - Slick broke away first by elbowing Sleuth in the jaw, and naturally dove for both rings at once, but Sleuth suddenly recovered and shoved him out of the way. The rings were quickly and dangerously rolling too far from them and too close to the drain to continue the childish fight, however, so they readjusted their priorities: Sleuth dove for one ring and managed to trap it with both hands, While Slick made a few grabs for the other one, until he finally swiped it off the ground with his left hand. They lay there, admiring their prize for a few seconds, before they remembered that the other was there and glared at him.

And then they were handcuffed to each other.

“The fuck?!” Slick shouted, yanking his hand away from Sleuth like freeing himself would be _that_ easy.

Sleuth, caught off guard, was of course yanked forward, almost into Slick. His surprise switched to anger as well, and he pulled his hand back to himself. However, instead of berating Slick, he started studying the cuff. As he did that, Slick addressed another problem:

“What the hell happened to my rings?!” he snarled.

“If I had to guess, I’d say we’re wearing them,” Sleuth said in an even, barely controlled voice.

Slick stopped flailing and stared at Sleuth, then the cuffs, then back to Sleuth.

“No,” he said, nearly _gasped_ , but then his scowl came right back.

“No! _Fuck!_ Why would you double fucking RINGS?!” he shouted, rattling the cuff.

Sleuth shook his head, but closed his eyes and thought about his assignment.

“The client mentioned the rings were of great importance... I think he called them heirlooms at some point, and the recipient of these rings were a couple in high standing--”

He looked terrified all of a sudden, and Slick took that opportunity to cut in:

“Yeah, so? What does that matter?”

“Slick, I... I think these are wedding rings.”

Slick’s jaw dropped when he stared this time. He looked at the metal loops and links binding him to Sleuth, watching them for a good long moment.

“Well, fuck this,” he sighed, and drew his sabre.

“Woah!” Sleuth yelped, attempting by reflex to jump out of the way and serving to only pull himself and Slick off balance, “What’re you doing?!”

Slick just looked annoyed as he steadied himself and glared at Sleuth.

“Cutting your hand off,” he said like it was obvious, and raised the sword, “now hold still, dumbass-”

Sleuth stopped looking shocked to just in time to shout “No! Cut off your own hand!” and get to his feet- or try to, as Slick was still half-kneeling on the ground, and didn’t bother moving with Sleuth. Again, they pulled themselves off-balance, ending with Sleuth half-bent over and Slick wobbling on his knees.

Growling, Slick steadied himself and raised his robot hand.

“Been there, done that, it’s someone else’s turn now so _gimmie your fucking hand already!”_

Slick made a lunge for Sleuth’s hand, but when Sleuth tried to dodge again, Slick just grabbed the chain of the cuffs and pulled their hands to the ground. Sleuth caught himself on one knee, and mightily forced his hand out of Slick’s grasp. Slick’s eyebrows shot up and he only just stopped himself from cutting his own wrist. He glared up at Sleuth, and Sleuth realized this was his chance to make his case.

“I _said_ hold the fuck sti--”

“What if that doesn’t turn them back?!”

Slick stopped talking, but narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Sleuth. Opening seized, Sleuth continued:

“We don’t know what triggered the switch, right? So what’ll you do when-” Sleuth made a face, but bravely forged ahead, “you cut my hand off and you’re still wearing cuffs? You gonna just live with that tacky steel bracelet for the rest of your life?”

Slick frowned, but shrugged, unconcerned.

“I’ll just saw ‘em off. Maybe pick the locks if I have to.”   
Sleuth’s eye twitched, and he struck his palm against his forehead.

“Okay, good, could we perhaps explore that option before jumping to mutilation please?”

“Oh, yeah, you’d _like_ that wouldn’t you, flatfoot? Just leading you right to our hideout,” Slick sneered.

“You have like ten hideouts, just pick one you don’t use a lot and take me there, okay?”

“No, fuck you,” Slick said, “I’m not ratting myself out just because some dumbass handcuffed himself to me. I mean shit, if it was that easy to catch the founder of the fucking Midnight Crew, the cops would’ve been lining up to try this stunt ages ago!”

In the silence where Sleuth tried to decide if he was going to comment on how unbelievably stupid that statement was or attempt to continue persuading Slick not to relieve him of body parts, the faint sounds of sirens could be heard in the distance, as if merely speaking their name had summoned them. A look of panic flashed across Slick’s face, before it turned into a determined (and angry) scowl.

“Fuck!” Slick shouted and started running.

Sleuth, however, didn’t move at all, except for the few inches he stumbled forward when Slick hit the end of the his very short chain.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” he growled, pulling his arm harder. Sleuth leaned a little Slick’s way, but braced himself.

“It’s just the cops,” he said.

Slick stared.

“Yeah it’s the fucking cops, and maybe it’s slipped your mind a little, but, _I’m a wanted criminal you fucking moron!”_

Sleuth nodded slowly, and suddenly Slick got the idea that maybe Sleuth was just _playing_ dumb.

“Yeah... Well, see, I’m not, so I don’t see why I should run?” he said, tilting his head a little. Slick glowered.

“You fucking dick,” he spat. Sleuth only shrugged.

“I don’t see why I should listen to you. A moment ago you were going to chop my hand off.”

“That ain’t outta the picture yet, y’know.”

“Mmmhmm,” Sleuth said, nodding again. Nodding, and not moving.

Slick snarled and threw his hands - oops, hand - up in the air.

“What? What the fuck do you w - _fine._ Fine, I won’t cut your fucking hand off at all if you just let me not get arrested for getting handcuffed to a do-gooder shithead, all right?!”

Sleuth made a show of considering it, but he smiled and held out his other hand.

“Sounds like a deal.”

Slick just curled his lip and turned away, pulling Sleuth along.


	2. Chapter 2

Sleuth gagged on the air coming out of the secret door.

“Oh my god, when was the last time you were in here?”

“A week ago.”

Sleuth stared at Slick.

“You guys didn’t like, leave a body down there did you?”

Slick dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand.

“Decomp smells damper than this,” and with those reassuring words, he led Sleuth into the old, abandoned basement.

It was pitch black down there, naturally, but Slick knew his way around by heart and smoothly made his way through the hideout. Sleuth, not so much, as he kept noisily stubbing his toes against walls and stumbling over cardboard boxes, cursing all the while.

Finally, Slick turned a light on, though there was a few seconds between the ‘click’ of the switch and the first flash from the flickering lightbulb. By the time the light had steadied, Slick was going through a cabinet in one corner of the room. The small room, Sleuth noted, too small to have been the first one, with one doorway from wherever they had come in, and another one across the room. It was lit by one sad little bulb hanging from the ceiling, and the light barely made it to the walls, let alone through the exits. There was a dark wooden coffee table low to the ground, and a dull old couch behind it. Paper bags and other remnants of takeout and hardware purchases could be seen poking out from behind the couch and hiding in corners. Sleuth concluded this had to be a temporary place of refuge, because he couldn’t see Droog lasting more than five minutes here.

Slick paused to look over a pair of side cutters, and Sleuth tried to lean over his shoulder.

“Do you need any help with-”

He barely ducked out of the way of the cutters when Slick tossed them over his shoulder and resumed his search. Sleuth wasn’t sure if that was his answer or if this was honestly how Slick looked for stuff, but given that he was a guest in this, erm, _humble_ abode, he decided to play it safe and sit this one out.

It was another few minutes before Slick emerged triumphantly from the pile of tools with a hacksaw. The glint in his eye alone was enough to make Sleuth’s wrist tingle in fear, but then Slick started dragging him through the hideout again. They went through the other doorway (really more a hole in the wall) and stumbled around in darkness until Slick punched on another unsteady light and started kicking a stool over to something that looked like a sawhorse, or was one at some point in its life. Slick sat down and Sleuth caught on and dragged another stool that was positioned pretty close to his side of the sawhorse anyway. He didn’t have to use all of his considerable detective skills to figure out that this was their setup for taking off cuffs, though he suspected it was normally just one person wearing them.

Almost before Sleuth had sat down, Slick started sawing away at the chain. Hours seemed to pass, but Sleuth couldn’t be sure because, of course, there were no clocks in the hideout, and he left his watch at home like an idiot. After yawning for the third time, though, Sleuth tilted his head towards Slick.

“How’s it going?” he asked, and whether it was in answer to him or to satisfy his own curiosity, Slick stopped sawing and leaned in to check the chain. Sleuth did as well, and they studied Slick’s work for a minute.

“... I think you scratched it,” Sleuth said neutrally.

Slick growled like an animal and started sawing with renewed vigour. Sleuth leaned back a little bit and raised his eyebrows, but he still wasn’t too intimidated not to ask: “You want me to--”

“Oh _please,_ let’s hear how you plan to outperform my tireless robot arm,” Slick spat.

Sleuth raised his hands - oops, hand - in defense.

“Fair enough, but maybe we could try my place. Ace Dick is pretty strong, I bet he--”

Slick slammed the hacksaw into the bench and Sleuth jumped.

“NO.”

Sleuth was finally kind of afraid to say anything more, so the next few uncomfortable minutes were spent in silence as Slick fumed and Sleuth hoped he didn’t reconsider the hand-cutting thing since there technically wasn’t anything but his word stopping him now. Suddenly, Slick stood up and yanked his hand, jerking Sleuth’s arm forward and nearly pulling him off the stool.

“Gonna call Boxcars over, get ‘im to do it,” Slick muttered, possibly to himself.

Sleuth weighed the pros and cons of telling Slick that Dick was literally the strongest guy in the world as he followed Slick to the phone. This was back through to the room with the cabinet, and even with the light Sleuth was still bumping into things from the speed Slick was pulling him at. Given the rising level of aggression in heir trip, Sleuth decided once again to let it be.

Slick beelined for the phone and quickly dialled a number Sleuth belatedly realized he should have maybe paid attention to.

“Fuck’s sake, who let you answer the phone?” Slick greeted. He sighed, and continued through his thinning patience.

“Yeah. Yeah, Deuce, put Boxcars on.”

He waited, and then, “Hey, get your ass to the hole on 13th and Ivory, I need a hand with something, and _come alone.”_

He scowled and glared at the phone.

“No, do _not_ bring Droog, I got this - _I can hear you in the background, jackass! I got it under control!_ Yeah, you’d better be alone when y’get here or you’ll both be in a world of pain, y’hear?!”

Slick slammed the phone on its hook and dropped down on the couch beside it. He attempted to cross his arms and was stopped by the chain, as Sleuth was standing on the other side of the couch’s arm. Slick glowered at Sleuth and pulled again, and with a sigh, Sleuth walked around and sat down on the other side of Slick. Sleuth never gave serious thought to comparing Slick to a fuming little child before, but Slick was just proving to be a barrel of new material if they ever got bantering again.

A few minutes passed, and Sleuth opened his mouth--

“Not a fucking word,” Slick said immediately.

Sleuth blinked and glanced Slick’s way.

“But-”

 _“Not. A fucking. **Word.”**_

Sleuth rolled his eyes and sank back into the couch. It was old, and maybe once it was black and leather, but now a significant portion of the arms and sides seemed to be various kinds of tape, in equally varied colours (though more on the dull and dark end of the scale). The cushions were covered by some dark fabric, presumably Droog’s last attempt at salvaging the poor thing. A scratching noise drew Sleuth’s attention to Slick scraping the tip of a knife against the seams of the tape on the arm, destroying what was probably his or Boxcars’ contribution to the couch restoration project.

Think of the big, hulking devil - the entrance door slammed open and heavy footsteps stomped down the stairs. Slick’s scowl grew deeper - no wait, wait, that was more like a grimace.

“Aw shit, I think I dragged him outta his _stories,”_ Slick hissed. He quickly glanced to Sleuth.

“Alright, keep quiet and lemmie do the talking.”

Since Slick seemed legitimately intimidated, Sleuth just nodded and waited for Slick to take care of this clearly delicate situation.

Boxcars entered the room, and he looked _pissed._ Then, for a moment, he looked surprised, before he jumped back to pissed again.

“The hell is this, boss?!”

Slick very diplomatically puffed his chest and answered:

“A fucking clusterfuck what’s it look like?” he raised his hand and rattled the chain, “Can you saw through this piece of shit or what?”

Boxcars growled and reached for them and for a terrifying moment Sleuth thought he was going to start beating the tar out of one or both of them. Instead, Boxcars took the slightly less terrifying route of grabbing the chain of the cuffs and essentially dragging them back to the room with the sawhorse, with Slick swearing at him all the way.

Boxcars slammed the chain against the sawhorse with a feral snarl and enough force to yank Sleuth and Slick off balance, and between that and Boxcars muscling around the sawhorse, the two of them ended up hunched over - Sleuth was stuck against his stool, and Slick was ducking out of the way of Boxcar’s arm while he started viciously sawing. The hacksaw made horrible noises against the links of the chain, and Sleuth thought he heard a few things crack. Much as he wanted to focus on anything other than the saw’s proximity to his wrist, however, he couldn’t. Slick kept swearing, Boxcars kept growling, and the saw kept moving until there was a louder, screechier _snap._

Boxcars and Slick’s rants tapered off as the saw was raised. Most of the teeth were blunted, bent, or broken, and the sawhorse had a deep gash in it. The chain looked completely undamaged.

“Bullshit,” Boxcars said immediately, and to prove his theory he dropped the saw and grabbed Sleuth and Slick’s wrists.

Sleuth might, _might_ have whimpered when Boxcar’s massive hand squeezed his wrist around the cuff, or that could have just been Slick, going by the look of panic on his face.

“Boxcars you fucking dumbass what the fuck do you think you’re doing--” and so on and so forth, as Boxcars raised their wrists and _pulled._

The pain wasn’t from the pulling so much from Boxcar’s grip that steadily became tighter as he fought against the impossibly strong chain. While the equally unyielding handcuff offered a little protection, it just wasn’t enough. That, and the panic of having _Hearts Boxcars_ angry and holding their wrists in a death-grip might have enhanced things somewhat.

Suddenly, Boxcars let up with a deep frustrated sigh and dropped the cuffs. There was a moment where Sleuth and Slick’s arms dropped to the sawhorse, before they tried pulling them away from Boxcars. Naturally, that just ended up in a futile tug-of-war while Boxcars huffed and growled over the handcuffs from hell.

“The hell _is_ this, boss?”

“A real fuckin’ problem,” Slick sighed.

In the pause that followed, Boxcars’ eyes flicked over to Sleuth.

“That’s Sleuth, right? Why don’t you just cut ‘im loose?”

Sleuth very admirably kept his shit together at that suggestion. He just focused on Slick for his answer, and so far Slick was giving a very promising flat stare at Boxcars.

“By which I mean cut his hand off--”

 _“Yeah,_ I know. Problem is, he cut a deal first, which is _ongoing,”_ Slick turned his glare to Sleuth, who nodded quickly, “So his hand stays on his wrist and _we_ stay outta trouble.”

Boxcars looked unconvinced, but he let it slide. He mused on the problem a little longer, but when he offered his next idea Slick shot him down immediately.

“Think the blowtorch-”

“FUCK NO!” Slick blurted, jumping to his feet, “Fuckin’ convection mean anything to you?”

“Conduction,” Sleuth corrected. Slick buried a knife into the sawhorse and uncomfortably close to Sleuth’s hand, all without moving his eye from Boxcars.

Boxcars shrugged, “The lock pickin’ stuff’s back at the hideout.”

Slick swore again, shaking his head.

“Can’t you bring it back here?”

Boxcars crossed his arms and Slick pointed at Sleuth.

“Look, we can’t just show this idiot the way to our hideout!”

Boxcars looked at Sleuth, considered the issue for a few seconds, and then grabbed a paper bag off the floor and Sleuth by the arm. Sleuth was _just_ able to get out a “What the f-” before the bag was shoved over his head.

“... Okay,” Slick said, his voice oddly calm.

Suddenly, Boxcars grabbed them by the cuffs again and started dragging them through the base, then up the stairs and into the sweet fresh air. Sleuth tried to enjoy it as much as he could in a musty and questionable old takeout bag, but Boxcars quickly pulled them to a car and shoved them into... the back seat, if Sleuth had to guess. If it was the front he’d be kissing the gas pedals, since he landed in front of the seats instead of on them. There was no way he was going to get a seatbelt on, and Slick didn’t care, so Sleuth was left to hunker down and pray they didn’t hit anything when Boxcars slammed on the gas.

Near as Sleuth could tell, they made it to their destination unscathed. The car seemed to instantly go from top speed to nothing, and while Sleuth would have normally taken the time to appreciate the quality of the vehicle and its inner workings, he had successfully missed both the front seats and slammed headfirst into that thingie between them, and wasn’t in much of a state for appreciation. Boxcars had no trouble hauling him and Slick out of the car, not that he would have if Sleuth hadn’t been stunned anyway, but it felt nice to have an excuse. The walked/were dragged a few feet before they suddenly stopped.

“Woah, woah, hold up, Hearts, how are we gonna do this?”

Something metal and heavy scraped across the pavement. That, and the distant noise of traffic connected some dots in Sleuth’s head.

“We’re in the middle of the street, aren’t we?”

Something metal and pointy poked Sleuth under the ribs. More dots were connected, and he shut up.

“Boxcars?” Slick said.

Boxcars shuffled around some more, but didn’t answer Slick directly:”

“HEY DEUCE! LANDIN’ PAD!” he bellowed, and there was a hint of echo close by. Sleuth frowned, but wisely withheld comments about sewer hideouts.

The knife went away as Slick started swearing and waving his hands frantically.

“Oh no, no you big idiot we’re not doing that stupid--”

They were shoved forward and then whoops where did the ground go-

It seemed Slick’s swearing was going to be a backdrop on this misadventure, for how frequently it happened. This time, it lasted for the few seconds it took for them to fall, then bounce off something springy and curiously mattress-like before landing hard on some good ol’ concrete. Slick groaned from either the impact or the humiliation, and Sleuth just tried to get his wind back.

“Oh wow, those are some nice cuffs, boss! Hey, who’d you bring back here?!”

“Deuce--” Slick started, but he was too late to stop the little demo-guy from whipping the paper bag off Sleuth’s head.

Sleuth just blinked at Deuce, who after a dramatic gasp, went back to talking.

“Woah! You captured Problem Sleuth?! That’s great! Why’d you cuff yourself to him, though?”

“Deuce,” Slick said, barely controlled through his teeth, “do me a favour and run interference on Droog, will ya? And don’t mention this _at all.”_

“Uh, sure, whatever you say, boss!” Deuce chirped, and scuttled off.

There was a heavy sigh behind them. In the excitement, Sleuth must have missed Boxcars closing the hideout door and climbing down to join them.

“Y’know yer gonna need him for the lock,” he said.

Slick was quiet for a moment, then he frowned and sighed.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I just wanna postpone the headache and get him to like, meet me on my own terms or something.”

“If you say so.”

Boxcars pushed past them - perhaps with some unnecessary force when passing Sleuth - and headed down the hall. The rather long hall, though Boxcars had turned through the first doorway on the right.

Slick pulled on the chain and Sleuth started following him. They passed where Boxcars had gone through - it was their living room, Sleuth guessed. It was furnished well for an underground hideout, which made sense since they lived here half the time. Of note was the sizeable TV Boxcars was watching from a plush red couch, and the matching arm chair Droog was sitting in. Deuce was talking to him, his arms moving wildly with whatever story he was telling, but Droog for all appearances was still reading his newspaper. Despite that, he still raised his head when Slick passed the door, then his eyebrow when he saw Sleuth. Sleuth tried to cover his face somewhat, or at least look away and look like he totally belonged down here. Deuce turned around and waved at them.

Slick bared his teeth and made threatening gestures, which Droog just shrugged at before returning to his paper. Slick stuck his tongue out in disgust, and with more force than really necessary he yanked Sleuth along again.

They passed a few more doors and doorways and eventually Slick pulled Sleuth into an office. Again, probably not as fancy as anything they had above ground, but it was still bigger and better than anywhere Sleuth usually spent his time.

Slick dragged Sleuth over to a cabinet, where he poured himself a glass of something expensive-looking and downed half of it. Sleuth very politely stayed quiet.

“This looks like a story,” said a smooth voice.

Slick swallowed and scowled.

“Yeah, once upon a time you shut the fuck up and picked this lock.”

“Shut the fuck and pick this lock...?”

 _“Now.”_

Smirking slightly, Droog crossed the room. He paused briefly when he passed Sleuth. Sleuth nodded.

“Droog.”

“Sleuth.”

Pleasantries out of the way, Droog turned his attention back to Slick, who just raised his left and and rattled the chain since he was too busy drinking to give orders. After hours spent in Slick’s company, seeing someone not roll their eyes or make faces was kind of unnerving. Granted, Droog was unnerving anyway, but it was at least a refreshing change from the past maybe-hours.

Droog took a seat and examined the cuff.

“Hm, small keyhole,” he observed after a moment.

“That a problem?”

“We’ll see,” he said.

Droog worked at the lock for ... Well, Slick didn’t keep clocks down here, either, so it was hard to be sure. Slowly, a frown started to form on Droog’s face and grew deeper.

“Hmph.”

“What is it _now?”_ Slick hissed.

“I can feel the pin, but it ain’t budging,” Droog reported, leaning back and setting his picks down.

“Oh you can’t be fucking serious!” Slick snarled, slamming his fist into the desk.

Unaffected by the outburst, Droog regarded the chain for a moment, then raised his hand to Slick.

“Hold still for a second.”

“Huh?” Slick stared at Droog, and whether he intended to or not, he did as he was told. Droog nodded, and suddenly he was holding a gun.

In the second it took for Sleuth and Slick to realize that had happened and before they could panic, Droog had fired. While there was a huge gouge in the desk, the chain was unharmed.

“Interesting,” Droog said and slid the card back into his deck.

“ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE WHAT THE _HELL_ WAS THAT?!” Slick yelled, barely a foot from Droog’s face. Droog was understandably used to this, and only looked a little annoyed.

“Strong cuffs, aren’t they?”

“OF FUCKING COURSE! I COULD HAVE FUCKING TOLD YOU THAT! SLEUTH COULD HAVE FUCKING TOLD YOU THAT!”

“Are they actually handcuffs?”

“WHAT THE HELL KIND OF QUESTION IS TH-”

Sleuth was quicker on the uptake and risked getting involved:

“No.”

And now he had the attention of two angry mobsters. Sleuth took a breath and continued.

“I’m pretty sure they’re cuffs second. Y’think that’s what’s making them hard to break?”

“Obviously,” Droog said, and went back to observing the cuffs.

“It’s possible the only way to ‘unlock’ them is to trip them back.”

“Fuuuuck,” Slick groaned.

Sleuth just nodded, and added, “They’re an older model, maybe that’s making it harder?”

Droog frowned again.

“Trigger’s probably finicky, too,” he said, “and it could be an emotion-based one, at that.”

No one said anything for a moment. A long, uncomfortable moment. Droog looked away from the cuffs, over to Slick.

“What are these doubles of, anyway?”

Slick blinked, confused at first, before a look of terror slowly spread across his face. With that as his answer, Droog turned to Sleuth, who was staring very intently at the desk until he finally mumbled something that sounded like “wedding rings.”

Droog didn’t really do anything for a moment, before he swivelled the chair back to Slick.

“Have you considered just killing him?”

Instantly, Slick was back to his exasperated self.

“Yeah, but what if that doesn’t switch ‘em back?”

Sleuth coughed and in a voice that was totally hardboiled and steady and not nervous at all said “Yeah, what about that?”

Droog didn’t even have to think about it - “Then just cut off his hand and slide it off.”

Slick shook his head.

“And what if _that_ doesn’t turn it back, either? If these are fucking ancient magical cuffs or whatever, I don’t wanna risk being wrong.”

Sleuth was almost impressed at Slick’s show of caution. Droog wasn’t. He regarded Slick cooly for a little longer, maybe waiting for his boss to come to his senses, but when that didn’t happen, he sighed and stood up.

“If that’s the case, you should take this to Boxcars.”

Slick tilted his head as he watched Droog cross the room.

“Why?”

Droog paused at the door long enough to shoot them a look over his shoulder.

“You’re wearing wedding rings,” he said, and there was something unusual in his voice. Another smirk, clearer than the first, revealed it was amusement.

“I think his advice would be better suited for this, don’t you?”


	3. Chapter 3

Slick had actually hesitated outside of the living room. The day was just full of surprises. Finally, he took a deep breath and led them in.

“Hey, Boxcars,” he said, though his usual angry tone sounded half-hearted.

Boxcars didn’t bother turning from the TV; he just grunted. Slick’s lip curled and he was a little more like his normal self this time:

“If a colossal _idiot_ like yourself were to double wedding rings or something, how would you trigger ‘em?”

“Love, obviously,” Boxcars answered with no hesitation, “Love or some kind of affection. Or if yer triggerin’ _from_ wedding rings, anything _but_ love.”

 _Now_ he turned around, and squinted at Slick and Sleuth.

“You wearin’ a set of wedding rings?”

Slick sneered and tried crossing his arms again. He stopped at the last second and settled for just clenching his fists angrily.

“No! Did I fuckin’ say I was?!”

Boxcars had already turned back to the TV.

“I ain’t an idiot, boss, yer wearing wedding rings.”

Since it sounded like Slick was about to erupt in another tangent of unproductive profanity, Sleuth stepped in diplomatic-like.

“Yeah, that’s right, and we need to get them off, and Droog’s... Backed down. Any ideas?”

Boxcars didn’t say anything, but Sleuth had the feeling he wasn’t watching the TV anymore.

“... S’cuse me,” he said, voice unusually quiet. The couch squeaked as he stood up, and he made no other comment or even looked their way as he left the room.

Sleuth was understandably confused, as this was the calmest he had ever seen the safe-breaker of the crew. Granted, their normal run-ins were in the heat of foiling a heist or snooping around the wrong territories, but even from what he had seen in his short time in the base, this seemed oddly placid.

He turned to Slick to get his reaction, to see if this was a normal thing or not. Impressively, Slick seemed to be both seething and sulking. He was leaning against the couch and tapping his fingers restlessly against the arm.

“Uh, think he’s coming back?” Sleuth asked carefully.

Slick growled and shut his eye.

“Yeah, the big fucking asshole will be back when he’s done laughing at us.”

“... Oh.”

Considering Boxcars’ size and normal volume, Sleuth was impressed at the level of soundproofing they had in the base. Yes, that was what he was going to focus on, because giving thought to any other part of the situation was depressing.

Boxcars finally returned from wherever he went in the base, with his eyes glistening and a smile still faintly on his lips.

“About fuckin’ time,” Slick spat, “now tell me everything your soft, useless ass knows about-” (Slick choked on the word) _“-love!”_

Boxcars stopped, tilted his head, and regarded Slick suspiciously.

“Boss, are you interrogatin’ me about _love?”_

Slick spluttered and then there was a knife in his hand, but Boxcars didn’t look too concerned so Sleuth tried to play it cool too. Also, Slick was about to start another rant, so maybe it was time to interfere again.

“Ahah, okay, can you guys save the banter for after I’m out of your hideout? Please?”

Aaaand that probably wasn’t the way to do it, but at least they weren’t glaring at each other. Sleuth quickly turned his attention to Boxcars.

“Right, so Boxcars, your theory is we have to feel love to get these to be rings, right?”

Boxcars smirked (Slick glowered).

“Yeah.”

Sleuth nodded, went to cross his arms, flinched, and just left his right hand at his side while he slipped the other in his pocket.

“Yeah, so, uh-” suddenly, Sleuth got an idea. His eyebrows shot up, and he looked a little distant.

“Hey, do you think it matters if it’s both of us feeling love or what?”

Boxcars raised his eyebrow.

“Idunno, I didn’t make the things.”

Sleuth shrugged, but now he was smiling.

“Well, it could be worth a shot, right? I mean what do we have to lose?”

Slick looked like he could offer a few suggestions, but instead he just eyed Sleuth warily.

“What’re you so happy about, flatfoot?”

Sleuth turned to Slick, simultaneously looking smug and nearly giddy.

“Get me to a phone, I got this in the _bag.”_

Slick sneered and started chewing Sleuth out for having the _audacity_ to order him around in his _own_ base, but Boxcars had them by the chain again and was dragging them through the hideout. Despite further manhandling, Sleuth still looked infuriatingly smug.

Boxcars dropped them by the phone and left. Soon, Sleuth was on the phone to his very own Dame.

“Hey, doll,” he said, stupid grin already on his face despite his attempt to sound hardboiled. Slick was scowling, arms crossed and leaning against the wall beside Sleuth.

Dame said something, but Sleuth just shrugged.

“Yeah, sorry about that, I got called on a sudden job and it’s taken a turn for the long and convoluted. I finally got time to myself so I called to say-” his smile somehow became dopier and his voice so syrupy you could bottle it and dump it on pancakes, “I love you.”

Slick silently gagged and stuck his tongue out. Because of that, he missed when the warmth vanished from Sleuth’s expression. He was still smiling, but more because it was frozen on his face. Slick raised an eyebrow. He caught a glimpse of something in his peripheral, and turned to see Boxcars peeking into the room and Deuce blatantly standing in the doorway. Slick jerked his thumb at Sleuth with a clear ‘what’s up with this idiot?’ look on his face. Deuce shrugged and shook his head, and Boxcars frowned.

“What?” Sleuth said - repeated, actually, Slick had only been half-paying attention.

“You wh... I... huh?” The smile dissolved and Sleuth looked even more lost and confused than he usually did. Slick suddenly had the feeling this was going to get complicated.

“But- but I... I...”

-

“I can’t believe she broke up with me-e-eeeee!” Sleuth wailed into his arms.

He was slouched over the table, arms folded under his face as he sobbed into his elbow. Boxcars sat at the end of the table, beside Sleuth, and Demo was perched on the table in front of him. Slick, of course, was right beside Sleuth. Slick just rolled his eye.

“This is fucking _sad,”_ he spat.

“I _know!”_ Deuce said tearfully.

Boxcars gave Sleuth a gentle pat of sympathy and motioned to Deuce, who quickly took the bottle of scotch and refilled Sleuth’s glass.

“I just - we saved the world together! I saved her from whore island! How can she just _throw that away?!”_

“Didn’t you say it was ‘cause you didn’t pay attention to her?” Slick said. If his voice was a crime scene, there wouldn’t be the faintest trace of evidence to implicate him in the... uh... crime... of ... giving a shit.

Sleuth missed that, much like his ability to miss relationship problems.

“I thought she just wanted space,” he said, and despite looking and sounding dazed, his hand still found his glass without needing to turn his head, “I mean, dames like that, right?”

“It’s all in moderation,” Boxcars said, right as Sleuth knocked back his glass.

“Maybe she thought you was workin’ too much?” Deuce said, though not all of his usual stupid enthusiasm was there.

Slick wish he knew how to repeat this behaviour in Deuce without turning him and Boxcars into humongous fucking saps.

Sleuth, surprisingly, gave this some thought.

“But... But I’m _Problem Sleuth,”_ he said, befuddled, “I _sleuth_ problems, how can I not, it’s right in the _name!”_

Slick growled a little through his teeth and shut his eye.

“Then why the _hell’d_ you stick with her if she was making you choose between her and your job?!”

Sleuth floundered for an answer through the sea of alcohol in his brain.

“Uhhhh well it was like destiny? She wasn’ like makin’ me choose though she was just... Uh...”

Slick shook his head and looked over to Boxcars.

“C’mon, Boxcars, back me on this.”

“I think you’re making progress on your own,” he said. It wasn't until halfway through his retort that Slick caught the tone in Boxcars’ voice.

“Okay fine, fucking tr...” he looked back at Boxcars, narrowed his eye, and finished darkly, _“Progress?”_

Boxcars nodded, wearing an expression that dared Slick to start something over it.

That was the scene Droog walked in on when he went to refill his coffee - Slick and Boxcars bristling and growling at each other; Deuce, who would have been attempting to defuse the tension if he wasn’t looking sympathetic (and managing the bottle) for Sleuth, who was mostly slumped over the table and staring forlornly at his glass.

Droog didn’t have to say anything, he just shot one of his ‘well I live with you idiots all the time why should I be surprised by this’ looks, which Deuce caught (a lot, actually!).

“Droog, Sleuth’s girlfriend broke up with him, isn’t that _awful?”_

Droog huffed, but he was smirking.

“That’ll make things easier, at least.”

Slick was preoccupied, but he could always tell when people were talking about/to/at him, and he turned his snarl on Droog.

“Ha _ha,_ get fucked.”

Droog’s expression said more than whatever scathing and highly inappropriate one-liner ever could, and Slick growled after him as he returned to the living room.

“Fucking stuck up dick,” Slick spat, then glared at Boxcars.

“Wipe that look off your face, fatass!”

Of course, Boxcars didn’t, but Slick could only scowl at him some more. He glanced at Sleuth, who was undeniably _sloshed_ by this point, and raised an eyebrow.

“Jesus, Sleuth, are you cryin’?”

Sleuth shot a watery glare at Slick.

“Fuck you, my femin- feminin- my lady-counterpart-dreamgirl just broke up with me. Ass.”

Sleuth reached for his freshly refilled glass again, but Slick swiped it before he could get his hand on it.

“Yeah, I think that’s enough,” Slick snickered, and knocked back Sleuth’s drink.

Sleuth was glaring at him some more.

“Fuck you,” he slurred, and really, Slick could only laugh, even as Sleuth lurched to his feet.

“You _can’t_ be seriou-”

But Sleuth was, and took a sloppy, uncoordinated swing at Slick’s head. The poor excuse for a punch was easily avoided by Slick simply leaning back, and between his awful balance and getting tangled in his handcuffed arm, Sleuth toppled over in a sad, drunken heap. Slick snickered, until the handcuff chain went taut and Sleuth’s dead weight pulled Slick off his chair and onto the floor. Or more accurately, onto Sleuth.

“You son of a-” Slick started, but given Sleuth’s state, decided it wasn’t worth it and just started hitting him.

He was at an unfair advantage, being on top of Sleuth and sober, and of course he didn’t care. The handcuff thing made fighting a little tricky though, since he kind of lost track of where Sleuth’s right wrist went and Sleuth’s writhing around wasn’t helping.

“Hold the fuck still--” Slick started, but Sleuth’s elbow slipped by his defense and smashed Slick in the nose. Slick took a few seconds to realize that yes, that happened, before he got even angrier and started wrestling Sleuth into a headlock while the shitty detective swore incoherently.

“If he pukes, yer cleanin’ it up,” Boxcars said.

Aside from everything else about the situation, Slick was really coming to hate how his being stuck to Sleuth apparently gave his crew the right to order him around. That only sent his RAGE DRIVE over the edge and he just - what the fuck when did he start thinking in stats? Goddammit, Sleuth was rubbing off on him already, fuck that guy.

“Fuck you, you think I’m doin’ shit while I’m cuffed to this asshole?” Slick grunted out as a retort while he finally scored a good hold on Sleuth and started choking him.

If Boxcars responded to that, he didn’t do it vocally. Deuce, however, kind of moved across the table by the sounds of it.

“Boss, I thought ya said you weren’t gonna kill him!”

“I’m not,” Slick said, struggling to hold Sleuth’s free arm away, “just gonna knock ‘im out a little.”

“Oh, okay.”

And it was just like that for the next minute or so: Deuce and Boxcars discussed something that Slick didn’t care to pay attention to - probably bets or something, heh - and Sleuth stubbornly clung to consciousness. Or, Slick was bad at choking people out with his arm but that probably wasn’t it since Slick was amazing at _everything._

Then, Droog interrupted _again,_ calling from the livingroom:

“Boss, I think you’d better see this.”

Boxcars and Deuce were out of the room in an instant, and Slick would have been too, but even though he (reluctantly) dropped Sleuth’s head, his attempt to stand up was stopped short by the rattle of chains.

He glared down at Sleuth.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding,” he said flatly.

He nudged Sleuth as best as he could at a half-squat.

“Get up, moron, I know you’re still awake.”

Sleuth mumbled incoherently and coughed.

“Don’ wanna.”

“Too bad, get up.”

“Fuck you.”

Somehow, Slick manhandled Sleuth into an upright position and managed to drag him to the livingroom, where the annoyingly loud and cheery sounds of early-morning television were blaring. Droog was on the couch now, as was Boxcars, and Deuce was cross-legged on the floor right in front of the TV, watching a news report narrated by an abominably chipper anchor. It only took Slick about a second to figure out they were halfway through a report on last night’s clusterfuck of a robbery.

“-the kingdom has requested permission to use their own resources for the investigation-”

“We still have kingdoms?” Deuce said, blinking and turning around to the rest of the room.

“Different territory; couldn’t handle life without a monarch,” Droog said.

“Can it! This sounds important!” Boxcars snapped, shushing them nosily.

Slick shook his head and tried to listen to the report. They were playing footage of the street where the delivery was going to be made, now clear of civilians and bordered by caution tape. Then, it switched to a hilariously bad picture of Sleuth - it was from a newspaper, probably his rare case that was both high-profile _and_ successful, and he was trying and pretty much failing to hide his joy under a cool ‘hardboiled’ exterior.

“Problem Sleuth, last seen in pursuit of the original thief, is a key witness and potential suspect-”

 _“Hhhey,”_ Sleuth said, glaring at the screen.

As Sleuth had voiced his protest, the feed changed again, this time to a grainy old picture of Slick, back when he still had two eyes and arms. It was probably a mugshot (though memories around _any_ of their arrests were fuzzy at best), and Slick looked like he had just come out of a brawl - his left eye was swollen shut, and he had a few teeth missing, displayed as they were by Slick sticking his tongue out at the camera.

“Why do they always pick the _worst_ pictures?” Droog sighed.

“Gee, Droog, I don’t think there’s _any_ good pictures of the boss!” Deuce giggled.

“Shut the _fuck_ up! What’s wrong with you guys, this is important shit!” Slick snapped, not breaking his gaze from the screen.

“-outstanding warrants. Witness testimony and forensic evidence places him in the area at the time of the incident and he is considered a major suspect.”

Both of their pictures were displayed now, as well as contact information for the authorities.

“Investigators urge you to phone this number immediately if you see either of these men.”

Other than that, the anchor was apparently done with giving out useful information, as she started going on some fluff about the people involved in some wedding or something. Slick swore immediately, but there was a quiet pause as they considered the situation.

“The cops are fuck-ups,” Slick said, “Even with heat from the governments, they wouldn’t be able to find us.”

“Yes, but I have a feeling this will go over the local PD,” Droog said, crossing his arms.

“Oh! But the lady said the other guys were askin’ for permission to look here!” Deuce piped up, turning his back to the TV.

“Yeah, funny thing about governments, they don’t always play by the rules,” Slick said bitterly.

Stock footage of the territory’s flag played on the screen, and Sleuth raised his head. He’d spent the report leaning heavily on the back of the couch, but now he seemed to be at least making the attempt to stand on his own.

“Heeeey, those’re the guys who hired me,” he said with a shaky, drunken smile, “Yeah, they like, threatened me with violence an’ stuff if I fucked up the ring-thing.”

He snickered, unaware of the undivided attention he was getting.

“I think... I think the words were like, ‘if you let anythin’ happen to these rings, we’ll...’ uh... ‘You’ll pay for it in red’ or somethin’, it was cool and hardboiled as _shit.”_

Slick took a deep breath.

“Sleuth,” he said steadily, “what are you getting at here?”

Sleuth started sinking against the couch again. He looked wistfully at the ceiling and smiled again.

“I don’ think they’re gonna be happy if they find us wearin’ the rings. They really, _really_ like these rings, haha.”

“Sleuth, are you saying our lives are in danger?”

Sleuth sighed, and wiggled his head a little.

“Prob’ly. Yeah, I think they’d be _pissed_ since we stole th’royal-heirloom-antique-ring-thingies n’stuff.”

Sleuth yawned and started sliding down the back of the couch.

“Ffffuhck, ‘m real tired t’night. G’night.”

As soon as Slick had deciphered that, he growled and grabbed Sleuth by the coat.

“No, asshole, _not_ goodnight! Start talkin’! Who are they? How’re they gonna come after us! Hey!”

But no matter how much Slick smacked Sleuth around, he didn’t do more but mumble incoherently and snore.

Slick gave up with a frustrated snarl and threw Sleuth to the side, then stumbled to catch himself with Sleuth’s dead weight nearly pulled him down again. As he was busy with that, Droog sighed and shut the TV off.

“Gonna be one of those weeks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand that's the end of my tumblr buffer. Now you folks on AO3 are just going to have to wait like everyone else for more handcuffed shenanigans!
> 
>  
> 
> (ps fsgshg thanks everyone who's commented/kudos'd/bookmarked/accidentally clicked! :) you guys make me feel like I'm competent or something)


End file.
